Makin' Believe
by Just-Jayme
Summary: Occurs after AJBAC. To dream, or not to dream. Figure it out.


Disclaimer: I don't own the 'sexy crusader' or her 'trusty sidekick', although I pray like hell that I did. Maybe then they'd get a happy ending. Point is, Dark Angel belongs to Charles Eglee, James Cameron and whoever else created it and not a whole lot of anything belongs to me.  
  
Makin' Believe  
  
Takes place after And Jesus Brought A Casserole.  
  
*****  
  
Logan Cale dropped his keys and sunglasses on the table next to the front door and walked to stare out the window at his 200 foot view of Seattle. He had been to Lunch with an informant and knew he was going to have to switch on his alter-ego very soon and make the hack. But for now he allowed himself ten reality-free minutes to remember Max. The light in his darkness filled life. The candle forever burning in his heart. A week after she had died he'd realised he was going to have to split his time between thinking of her and taking care of himself or else he would die too, and he couldn't. He'd almost died on the inside until the thought occurred to him that she wasn't really dead. It wasn't really supported by much evidence but it gave him the flicker of hope he needed to get his life back on track and resume his job as Eyes Only, all seeing, all knowing underground pirate cyber journalist. But he knew there was no way he would ever let his work swallow him whole. Whenever he felt himself getting too wrapped up in a case, he just told himself, "C'mon, man, all work and no play makes Logan a dull boy. You don't always gotta fight the power, protect the downtrodden, blah blah woof woof. You gotta be alive for if, no, WHEN she comes back." The thought of Max always kept him going, no matter where he was. He knew that the thought of her could keep him going to the ends of the universe and he wouldn't get tired. Not if she were there. He breathed in heavily and told himself to start working. Thinking of Max could completely take over him sometimes, but the only time he let himself become completely consumed in the world of what-ifs was in bed, at night, where dreams came true and where Max awaited him. He sat in his computer chair, turning off the exo-skeleton as he sat down and lost himself in his work until his head registered that the rest of him was hungry. He walked into the kitchen, making Pasta Tricolore, memories floating in front of him as though they were yesterday. The time she made him dinner, Pasta Tricolore, and she ran away from Eyes Only after he put his job before her. One of the biggest mistakes he ever made. He made it up to her by cooking dinner for her.  
  
"I've got everything we need to whip up a Pasta Tricolore."  
  
"I can boil the water."  
  
"You can?"  
  
"Mmm-hmm."  
  
*****  
  
He came back to reality as he downed the Pasta, not caring to take his time, the only reason he ate was so that he didn't starve. He didn't see a reason to make any food if Max wasn't going to eat it. Sure, cooking was a way for him to get away from things, stop concentrating on life, but he wanted to concentrate on life. He wanted to concentrate on Max.  
  
He sat there silently after finishing his pasta, staring morbidly at the one photo he had of Max. She was smiling slightly, as though she knew something you didn't. He remembered the time she was in heat, and he didn't find out til' later. He hadn't even noticed the looks she had been giving him, and only realised as he wrote in his diary later after she didn't show up. He practically kicked himself for not thinking much of it., Or, he WOULD of kicked himself had he been able to move his legs. He tried to remember the sound of Max's voice and found he couldn't. He couldn't remember. It was in his head, but it didn't sound right. He choked hard, wanting her, needing her. He wanted to hear her voice, see her, touch her. Why had they been so cruel to take her from him? Didn't they know how much he needed her. He would of killed himself at least half a dozen times, before realising if he went he'd never have the chance to know if things could ever work out for them. The chance that she may feel for him as he felt for her. And then he had found out. All thoughts of suicide completely flew out of his head as they engaged in a joyful bliss they had both wanted for so long. Why did they want her? He wanted her more, he should get her! "GIVE HER BACK!" He screamed hard, losing it and banging his fist on the dining room table. "I WANT HER BACK!" He thought of everything that had happened between them and cried so hard he felt the tears burn his cheeks. He pictured her eyes, the perfect lights, the centre of her whole body. The things that drew him to her most. Gorgeous brown light bulbs that lit up when she teased him. Deep, dark and mysterious. And then there was that smile. It melted him inside, tearing his soul apart. It made her look so innocent, especially when she gave him a big toothy grin, which barely ever happened of course. She was so beautiful, but even more so when she smiled. It made her look so young and carefree, when the corners of her mouth crinkled and she stared at him deeply, as though he were the only the only other person in the world, and she wanted to be with just him forever. Memories of Max seemed to go on forever, he couldn't remember anymore what was a dream and what was real, to be honest he didn't care. As long as she remained alive in his head everything was okay.  
  
His thoughts finally drifted away as the clock on the kitchen wall chimed 8 o'clock. He had a shower, brushed his teeth and went back to work on Eyes Only, gathering the recently accumulated data. He lost track of the time and finally drew his eyes away from the screen just after 2, eyelids heavy, falling into a deep slumber almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He had felt tired for a long time but being an insomniac, he had never been able to go to sleep when he wanted. And now, whenever he could sleep, he mostly had nightmares of Max dying. Over, and over, and over again. It was like he was dying himself, dying inside. But he knew his spirit could never be broken. Not as long as he remembered Max.  
  
*****  
  
Logan woke up and opened his eyes to thick, foggy vision, and thoughts of Max engulfing his mind. When he wasn't awake thinking of her, he was asleep thinking of her. He wondered what had woken him. He checked the clock. 4am. Still dark out. He lifted his head slowly off the pillow, a shadowed figure illuminated against the light of the moon, standing in his bedroom doorway. "Go awaaaaaaaay." He groaned, not awake enough to care who it was and what they were doing in his home at 4 in the morning.  
  
"Logan?" The voice was quiet, as though scared to be too obvious in case they scared him away. It brought back memories of good times. . . fun times. . . happy times.  
  
"Max?" He asked, almost delirious from such little sleep. The figure moved toward him, and even before he saw her face, before he saw the same, familiar way she walked, even before he had heard her voice, he had known it was her. The figure rushed into his arms as though they couldn't wait a second longer not to be touching him. He wrapped Max tightly in his arms, sharing with her all the warmth and comfort which his arms held, gently smoothing her gorgeous brown hair as she wept for the comfort she had lost, and finally found. He pulled her away, still clutching tightly to her by her arms.  
  
"Is it really you?" He breathed, knowing the answer as he looked into her eyes, not needing the soft nod for confirmation. Before either of them could think they were drawn to each other, seeking solace, their eyes desperate as their lips locked tightly, passionately, gently. Logan gently touched her closed lips with his tongue, to which she immediately obliged by gently parting her lips as an invitation. There they stayed, locked for minutes containing eternities, passion, lust and desperation boiling up inside them. They would have stayed like that forever, in each other's arms; lips joined passionately, tongues flailing if Logan hadn't felt something wet on his face. He opened his eyes to see Max crying, and then realised that he was too. They pressed their foreheads together, wanting just to be with the other, just to be able to touch them after the months of separation and certain death, be it physical or emotional. They both cried endlessly for the other, tears mixing and soon Logan couldn't tell who's tears were who's.  
  
"I missed you, Max." Logan breathed gently. Max replied by throwing herself at Logan, tucking her head tightly into his powerful chest as his strong arms wrapped around her, his chin resting on her head, making her feel wonderfully safe. Logan pulled her back onto the bed, and there they lay, safely within each other's arms, where they belonged, as they fell asleep.  
  
*****  
  
Logan Cale woke up and smiled to himself.  
  
Author's Note~~~ That's the end. . . . Feedback please! Tell me whether you thought it was or wasn't a dream, and why. 


End file.
